Sorry for the post-marathon disappearing act. Greetings from the medical tent!

I’m not there anymore, but I spent several hours doing things like “trying to warm up” and “attempting to stop vomiting.” I threw up SIX times after I finished, y’all. That’s one time for each of the toughest miles of this race.

I’m actually weirdly proud of that because it means I ran the living hell out of this race.

Around mile 20, the 4:15 pacer caught up with me (you heard me) and I spent the next several miles on her ass. This included laying all my energy, all my leg pain and all my hopes and dreams for this marathon out on the Las Vegas Strip.

Eventually she checked her watch and slowed down, saying, “Oh, we’re like 20 seconds ahead.” Buh-bye, lady. I took off and ran as hard as I could until the end. (Not sure how that works out with the timing and where I started in relation to the pacer, but whatever. I’m incredibly happy with my time.)

Everyone is 100% correct when they say those last miles are all heart. I kept telling myself, “I can do anything for four more miles. I can do anything for three more miles. I can do anything for two more miles…” etc.

And then, once I crossed the finish line in 4:15:10 with my hands in the air and the hugest smile on my face, the internal monologue simply became:

“I can do anything.”

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